Evil Angel
by Eternal Ending
Summary: -What demons was Sam holding in then?- When he needs it most, can she help him see the light? You might have heard it before, but never like this. There's more sides to this story. W/Angels Cry SamxSarah
1. Injury

**It amazes me how far Angels Cry has come in my head. Origionally intended as a one shot, I got addicted to writing for it and quicky had it as far more than I intended. One chapter turned into three into six into ten. But not only that, I came up with further installments. Evil Angel is the first to be put out as such. It follows Sarah's perspective, which will be more meaningfull than you might first think.**

**Soon to be coming, once I finish with these two, is another spin off that will take the place of the episode Metamophisis in a full story I plan on writing. I hope you guys will like it enough to still be with me at which point.**

**Playlist coming soon**

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_~Hold it together. Birds of a feather.  
Nothing but lies and crooked wings__.~_

_Blinding lights, blaring in her head. She closed her eyes shut tightly. A sound shattered through the air. Then, nothing. Just another light. But not so threatening. It shriveled away, fading to a sweet voice whispering her name._

_In the blackness, a face flashed in front of her. One she hadn't seen or thought of much. His glistening hazel eyes and rich brown hair swayed slightly. There was a look of pain on his face. _

_All of the sudden, blood erupted out of nowhere along with a piercing scream._

Sarah shot up in her bed, her heart pounding like a wild drum in her head._ Just a dream, just a dream,_ she chanted to herself till she began to believe herself. But as soon as she managed it, she almost wished she hadn't.

The light threatened to explode her head. The sun streamed in wildly through her window, casting tiny prisms of light across the walls. Not for the first time, she regretted putting so many damn windows in her room as she rose from her bed and stretch. She closed the drapes to the windows. Instantaneously, the room was plunged into darkness, more too her suiting.

According to the-most-useless-piece-of-tech-she-ever-had-the-misfortune-to-buy-known-as-her-alarm-clock, it was already nearly noon. She sat down on her bed, prodding the alarm button. It still read 9:30 am as a wake time. The damn thing never worked for the time she set it for. In a couple hours it would ring, though it clearly read way past the wake up time. She always meant to get it fixed or get a new one, but every time she did, something would distract her and she would forget till the next morning when it failed to wake her. Again.

_Guess I'm not going to work today…_ she thought to herself with a sigh.

Her hands went to her face, rubbing her eyes gently. Her hands found her hairline and couldn't help but run through her slightly greasy hair. Today was just one of those days when she felt it was essential to not look horrible.

Maybe it had something to do with the high school reunion approaching or getting a phone call from her ex from college who wanted to have a coffee. She'd said no. But why she hadn't wanted to see him? The only reason they broke it off was a conflict of interest. She wanted to be a art dealer, just as her father had fallen into doing and he wanted to go to Hawaii to study whales.

She had originally thought it was because she had closed that door. Jake had, after all, gotten his dream. So had Sarah. So they were still worlds apart. But other things had also happened to Sarah. Things she couldn't explain. In the last few weeks, she'd felt weird, like something was missing. So when she looked in the mirror, there was something she didn't like.

There was always something. Something unplacable. She felt it every day. Every moment. Nothing fixed it. Not working out at the gym. Not putting so much make-up on her face it made head feel heavy and fake. Not that semi cute guy from the dinner who always checked her out when she turned away, pretending she didn't notice.

Her mind went to her dream. Those watering hazel puppy-dog eyes. Could someone she only had known for a few days still be such an influence on her life? He promised. He promised he would come back. At least for a visit. Not even one word since that day. No phone call. No letter. It was as if he just disappeared off the face of the planet. Weekly she unearthed stories about two men saving this person's life or doing this. She'd even got up the courage to call a few, ensuring she had the right hunters. Then, a few weeks ago, nothing. Not one story which seemed even vaguely tied to him.

It wasn't like she was obsessed or anything. She'd dated ten men since he left her. Most had been complete flops but one had been pretty serious. It was just, there was something about him, something about Sam Winchester. Some puzzle which could only be solved through him. She never told him the truth. Never told nearly anyone. How could she? What little she did know herself seemed to pose more questions than answers…

Sarah finally got up, giving a deep yawn. Tucking a simple blue dress and underwear under her arms, she made her way to the bathroom. She dumped her clothes on the counter and turned on the shoulder. As she waited for it to warm, she looked in to mirror, wondering about all of this. It felt like she wasn't meant to be here. Not here, not now.

Slipping out of her pajamas of sweat pants and a cami, she hand her hand out to the steaming stream coming from the showerhead. She jerked back as it scalded her palm, blowing on it slightly and turning the temperature down a bit. She touched it again after a moment. Finding it to her liking, she slid the rest of the way in, turning her head upwards with her eyes closed as her hair dampened.

She always loved showers. Just as she loved the rain. To her, they reminded her of boiling rainstorm. Soothing, powerful, like the thrum of a waterfall.

After she finished and stepped out of the shower, wringed her hair and wrapped it up in a second towel to dry the rest of the way, and had lotioned up, her attentions turned, as they always did, to the mark on her arm. She wasn't sure if it was a scar or a birthmark or a burn, all she knew is that it only showed up after water hit her. You could see it if you look careful enough without water, but it was always obvious after a shower. She sighed and turned her attention to the mirror.

After she was satisfied with her look for the most part, Sarah jumped into her car with one mission in mind. Today was the day she would actually follow through with her plan. A better alarm clock.

Her hand shifted to the radio. Instantly, Iris started up. The same song which had been playing in the car when Sam had picked her up so long ago…She always thought of him. When one of the men she dated had tried to make it their song, she found herself constantly comparing him to Sam and their relationship quickly fell apart. How could any man compete with something like that? That body, that personality, those eyes…

She found herself humming along with it as she turned into the Walmart parking lot. She found a spot close to the front. But before she could take the keys out of the ignition, her phone rang. She took her hand off their handle and reached into her bag.

The screen read unknown caller. She pressed the talk button and held it up to her ear.

"Hello?" Sarah waited for an answer. When she heard nothing, she asked, "Who is this?"

"He needs you." A voice said. She felt it was familiar, but had no idea from where.

"Who? What are you talking about?"

"You know…" His face flashed in her brain along with a neon sign reading: 'Moon Bar.' Sarah waited for more, but the line went dead. Closing her phone, she immediately backed out of her parking spot and drove right out of the parking lot. If he really was at the Moon Bar, it meant she might finally get some answers. The question was, did she really want them?

As she drove down the road, she began to have doubts. Was it possible she had just imagined the whole thing? Could that phone call really have been real? It didn't seem possible in any use of the word.

Her heart beat in her throat. What would be worse? If it was just her imagination or if it was real? If he really were there, what would she say? What could she say? She suddenly felt a primal anger rise up in her. She wanted explainations. Why didn't he call her? Why didn't he try to at least let her know he was okay?

And why was there a short obit written for him when there was evidence he was alive? Him and Dean.

But then again, her stomach churned. She hadn't seen anything which said he or his brother had been spotted. They could just be on vaction. Did the Winchesters take vacations? Maybe they finally caught up with their father and decided to take some family time.

But to her, that seemed less plausible. What if they quit hunting? While she didn't think that was the case, what if it was? What if her hero quit doing what he was meant to do? People are alive because of him. It was his thing….

Then a darker thought crossed her mind. What if something happened to them? Their job wasn't exactly safe….

Her breath caught as she turning into the parking lot. A lusterous black '67 Chevy Impala sat in plain sight, glistening in the midday sunshine. Other than that, there was a rusty grey Pontiac Grand Am and a midnight blue Infiniti G37 Converable taking up a couple spots.

It was almost impossible it wasn't him. How many Chevy Imaplas are in that good of condition? She smiled at herself a little. That is what a lot of guys liked about her. She was as much an art buffie as she was a car buffie. Her own car was a turquoise '96'N' Marcos LM 500 Spyder and she knew how to care for it as well as any man could.

She parked next to the Impala, sure to raise the hood of her own car before stepping out onto the scalding pavement, her heels clanking loudly. She could feel her racing heart in her chest and the churning butterflies in her stomach. She checked herself over several times, reapplying her lipstick and fixing and re-fixing her hair.

Finally as satisfied as she could be, she strode forward with determination and grabbed the handle. With a single pull and a gust of wind, she opened the door; a bell announcing her arrival. Her eyes took in the scene. There was a man in the corner, a scar down his face and black hair who flashed livid green eyes to her for but a moment. The bar tender, however, was all eyes. She could hear his gasp as the slim, scruffy man caught her in a grey-eyed, lustful gaze.

The final man didn't turn once to look at her. His shoulders were hunched and slumped over in an awkward way. He was more muscular and his hair longer than the Sam she remembered. She moved toward him, stelettos clicking on worn wood floors. The greasy locks shifted back a bit as strong, dirty arms raised the beer glass to his lips.

She stopped behind him, trying to decide for sure if this was her Sam and if so, how to approach him. His body suddenly went rigid, the glass in his hand cracking. It was as if he was ready to murder her. One hand subtly moved to his belt, where a little bottle sat. Her heart in her throat as she forced out his name.

"Sam? Sam Winchester?" her own voice sounded distant and foreign, as if his name was so unexpected to be heard aloud by her heart that even her own voice saying his name was off.

Instantly his muscles loosened, their former tenseness all but gone. His other hand moved up and he slowly turned. There was a twisted expression on his face, as if he had been sucking on a lemon for a while and proceeded to try and smile. His face was dusted in black and brown grime, with the faint lighter streaks, which belied tears running down his cheeks. His hazel eyes she'd dreamed of for so long were lined with bright red veins and carried more baggage than a rich girl. There was something in them, which made her heart ache for him. His clothes were torn and stained, covered in mud and blood and god knew what else. He smelled of a grave and looked like a zombie. Everything from the moist smell of soil to the mold to the blood and the vomit, which might accompany a weak stomach seeing an undead.

She realized that moment she was gawking and forced herself to quit. She gave him a friendly face, pretending nothing was wrong.

"Sarah Blake? Wow…long time no see. You look great." She didn't really know what to say to him. Origionally, she had been angry with him. But looking in his eyes now, the tortured soldier look, her anger melted away. "You don't have to lie. I know. I've seen better days. Much better, in fact…So what brings you here?"

"I was with my father collecting a few new antiques for our auction." She was shocked at how easy the lie slid out behind her teeth. "Went out to get lunch when I drove by this bar and I recognized the car." Before he had time to say anything, she added, "So why are you here? You working?"

"Ya, I had to dig another one…" He answered.

She stifled a giggle. With any luck, this was just a down day. "So that's the reason for the whole…"

"Ya…" He answered. "Uncomfortably comfortable, remember?"

"I can't deny it. You do look like Hell…" Sam got that look again, something sour. She took it into account, putting it away. Something to do with Hell… "Well, how bout you go get cleaned and sobered-up a little" here she eyed the vodka bottle. "and we can go out to dinner for old times sake. My treat."

"How long do you have? I'm pretty damn drunk." _Obviously_, she thought, forcing herself to keep a straight face as his words slurred.

"Well, maybe lunch tomorrow, if you're that bad." She really had nearly no intention of leaving, but she wanted to test and see if he really wanted her here. "You have my cell number still?" She asked.

"Probably not. I've lost so many phones this year, I think I've lost just about every contact I had." Something her heart found this statement alarming.

She grabbed a napkin and pulled a pen out, sitting in the bar stool next to him. "Here." She said after writing down her number. She looked at the bleary-eyed expression on his face and deliberately moved the glass out of his reach. She was dismayed to see that while he didn't get up and grab the glass, his hands quickly found the whole bottle. She sighed, relenting. If she took the bottle, he'd just raid the bar.

But she was rewarded to see the sweet smile she's loved so much. Better and stronger than she'd seen since she got here. "So see you tomorrow then?" She asked, getting up. She turned her back on him, ready to leave.

"Don't go…" He said quietly. She couldn't help but smile. He did want her.

She turned back to face him, a playful expression dancing across her face. "Fine." She answered, sitting back down. "But if you want me to stay, you have to do something for me."

"What?"

"Stop hogging the vodka." The bartender, as if on cue, placed a glass in front of her with a sheepish smile. Sam filled her glass to the brim and she chugged it with no problem. The burn down her throat felt good, warming her stomach. "So what's the story anyway? The ghostee win the fight?"

"Nah, the shovel did." Sarah laughed.

"Oh-ho is that why there's a big glob of dirt in your hair?" She teased.

"What? Where?" Sam said, reaching back to his head to try and find it.

"All over." She gave a wry grin. It was true. He could hardly be dirtier with out being six feet under himself.

He shook his head, sending a huge gob of dirt into her empty shot glass. "You are soooo lucky I didn't have any more left. But now I need a new glass, thank you very much." She reached for the glass she'd stolen from him earlier, guzzling the rest of it.

"I've never seen such an educated girl drink so much hard liquor." He said after she finished her third glass.

"Well, you know, I have quite a few 'educated girl' friends who drink harder stuff than this."

"Really. I'd love to see it sometime."

"Maybe you will. Maybe I'll invite you sometime. I know at least one or two that would match Dean's type. Maybe I could hook him up." It took her a moment to really see the change. He shook, his breathing shallow and fast. Sobs raked his body.

"Sam? Are you okay?"

It was as if he didn't hear her. He stumbled up, his eyes blurry with sorrow. Attempting to move seemed futile, but he tried anyway. The vodka bottle quivered in his fingertips for a moment before crashing to the floor, shattering into a million pieces. He managed a slow, stammering pace. Sarah looked on in horror. His brother…something had clearly happened. Something huge.

For a moment, he was able to move faster. But all of the sudden his efforts became meaningless and he crashed to the floor, jagged pieces of glass carving through his clothes to split his skin. One sliced at his face. He tried to brace himself with his hands and get back up, but to no avail. "Sam!" Sarah shouted. She rushed to his side, looking into his eyes. There was such a look of deperation. Terror beyond what she could even imagine.

"Oh Sam…I'm sorry…" She whispered softly. Looking at him in such a pitiful, defenseless state made her feel weird. This guy killed ghosts. He killed vampires and demons. It was his job to save lives and bring hope. He was supposed to be a rock of safty in a sea of fear. Unbreakable. Strong. Safe. Yet here he was, this man who'd spat in the face of death, broken and shattered as a helpless child. For once, his eyes matched his behavior.

But what brought him to this point? What could do something like this? All of the sudden, the anger from earlier came back with a vengence. He'd been lying to her. Acting like everything was perfect. Something big enough to cause this much pain to someone so strong had to be huge. The least he could do was not lie to her face.

"You haven't told me everything and we both know it." She hissed in his ear. He pulled away, but Sarah wasn't done. "Sam, you're exhausted. You can't just get up like that. Not with all that alcohol you have in your system. And you need to eat something. You've lost at least ten pounds. You aren't getting up any time soon. Not alone anyway." She said. He wasn't about to get away that easy.

"M'okay. Really Sarah." Sarah looked him up and down. Who was this boy trying to kid? There was no way he was.

Sarah thought quickly. The bartender had gone ape, calling the police she was sure. Sam hated the police, that was for sure. This was her chance to force some answers out of this boy. "Sam, you've been on the floor, crying for ten minutes. And you weren't exactly yourself before then. There's something you're not telling me. So here's the deal. You want to leave so bad, fine. But if you do, you are going to tell me what happened. If you don't want to, you're just going have to go to the hospital." She left no room for compromise.

"Sarah…" He started to argue, but she wouldn't take it.

"No Sam. You just scared the crap out of me. I deserve an explanation." Sarah stared him down. There was the slightest trace of hate in his eyes as the sound of sirens distantly wafted to their ears. "Choose now Sam."

"Fine, fine. Just get me out of here." He half growled to her. She didn't take much provocation after that. She rose with no problems, extending her hand down to him. She had to juggle him around a bit, but eventually, she had her arm around his waist and his slung across her shoulders. It was a lot of work; Sam wasn't exactly a little guy, but finally she managed to get him over the threshold, a man dashing ahead to hold the door open for them. She nodded at him once before going on.

But the lights of an ambulance and two squat cars could be seen coming toward them. Sam groaned and Sarah could feel his face pressing into her shoulder, a muttered curse coming from his lips. She knew she had to hurry and somehow found the energy in her to go a bit faster and soon dropped Sam on front passenger seat of the Impala. But she was too late and the first of the emergency vehicles pulled in into the parking lot.

"Stay here. I have an idea." Sarah whispered rapidly. She didn't even wait for his response as a burly man followed the blood trail to the Impala and Sarah and Sam.

"Is there a problem here, little lady?"

"Nope. No problem. My brother ran off. A while back a relative of ours my brother was pretty close to died and he's been taking it pretty had. He cut himself up pretty bad before I could get to." She said softly, hopefully quiet enough that Sam couldn't hear. Then she delbibrately spoke the last part louder. "He can't really hold his liquor. He's been having a hard time recently and he's been getting really emotional. He ran off and it took me hours to find him. You know how they are…"

"And you're sure he'll be okay?" The officer asked, glancing into the Impala at Sam.

"Oh ya. Just a little rest and he'll be regretting this in no time." She smiled at him sweetly and he seemed ready to buy it, getting back it the cruiser and signaling to the others that it was all clear.

"Keys?" She asked as she took the drivers seat. She kept a straight face even through his obvious amazement.

Sam laughed bitterly. "What was that?"

"What?" she replied causally.

"You know what. You made it sound like you haven't had so much as a sip of even a light fruit cooler all day. Much less three vodkas."

Sarah shrugged. "Guess I'm just used to it. I mean back when my mom…" She was looking right at him the whole time, catching herself before she said anything else. She didn't want him breaking on her again in front of the officer. "Keys?"

"Oh, right…" He crammed his hands in his pockets. She fired up the ignition and backed out, ready to get out of here before anyone asked anymore questions.

"So what'd you tell him anyways?" He asked, semi-causally.

Sarah found herself lying again. Sam needed a pick-me-up, not the truth. "That you were my geek brother who lost his favorite possession, that Ghostbusters movie with all the cast's signatures including that flubby little ghost thing, in a card game and had ran off like a little girl." She was rewarded with a laugh.

"But how did you explain the blood?"

"You're a dork. Clumsy kind of goes with the territory…" She gave him a warm smile. The look he gave her in return reminded her that this was not out of the goodness of her heart that she kept him from going to the hospital. "But in all seriousness, Sam, you're going to need to tell me. But I think I'll let you sleep it off a bit first. You can stay with me as long as you need to."

"I thought your dad was with you." She caught his gaze.

Maybe it was time he knew a little of the truth. She felt off lying to him so much. "Okay, you caught me. I don't live with my dad anymore. I haven't for about a year now…I live around here now. I also admit it was no coincidence I found you, Sam." She looked at him softly. "I got a phone call."

Sarah saw his face go ashen. "From who?"

"I don't really know. He didn't say who he was. But he said you needed me and told me where you were…" she knew nothing she could say could keep the creepy feeling from him. Attempting to lighten the mood, she turned on the radio. She was surprised when Bon Jovi's Dead or Alive came blaring to life. If Sam was alone, what was he doing listening to classic rock? That never seemed like his kind of music.

His face told her more than she wanted to know. She quickly struggled with the radio, removing the cassette and turning on a song which she really wasn't paying much attention too. She was too busy stealing glances to Sam, twisted in pain. "I'm not helping, am I? You just can't get away from whatever's going on, can you?" Sam didn't answer.

She tried to calm him, using one hand to run through his greasy hair. It wasn't long before his eyes closed and he fell silent, slight rise and fall of his chest the only thing which gave him away as still among the living.

With his haunting eyes closed and body stilled, Sarah saw even more than she had before. Bruises and scrapes, both from today and long ago, littered his discolored, distorted flesh. It was as if he had lost the will to live. To keep on going. In his peaceful state, she would not be surprised if he was dead.

Suddenly, she stopped cold, lucky the neighborhood streets were bare. She had not noticed his clothing before. There was a splotch on his lower shirt, drenched in non-fresh blood. Enough that if it was his, it didn't seem likely he should be alive.

"What happened to you?" she murmured to herself, stroking his hair one last time before returning her attention to the wheel and driving off.


	2. Broken wings

I changed the song this was based off of. The other was a little too rough for earlier in the fic. Plus this one fits where I am going so well. Also, it is not by the main artists who made the song. Its by a private artist I stumbled upon by youtubing.

I know it has been forever since I have worked on either Evil Angel or Angels Cry. But in my defense, the thing that stops me from working on it is the future I have planned for it. If we ever get there, I think you guys might be really interested.

Anyways, so you know the drill. This is obviously Sarah's perspective in "Save me." And here we find out maybe a little more about what exactly is going on with her.

Main song: Iris By the goo goo dolls

Evil angel acoustic version by .com/watch?v=4z6Qa1nZsjA&feature=related

* * *

_I have the answer spreading the cancer _

_You are the faith inside me_

Sleep was a peaceful state. When your innermost thoughts decided to work themselves out in the most subtle ways. Hence the strangest dreams were born from the strains of unspoken thought.

The parts you try to keep yourself from acknowledging. Things which in the light hours were either not significant enough for notice or you didn't want them to be.

What demons was Sam holding in then?

It had been a near impossible feat. Getting the supersized lanky man from the car. She had to sling his arm on her shoulder, slapping his face to force him awake just enough to help her out. Though she doubted he would remember. She had to set him down and use the doorstop to hold it open while she hauled him inside.

It had been just as much of a chore struggling him out of his clothes to replace them. She refused to do much thinking while she did, mechanically tearing his pants off him and replacing them with a pair she had always kept around for some reason. She'd always justified it that some day some poor guy would be left pant less, but who else had that long of legs that she could think of off hand.

Still, she wasn't able to stop herself and couldn't help but note that Sam had one nice butt.

The stitching had been the worst part.

She had once thought about being a nurse when she was much younger, but that dream had been lost in time. Still, she had taken a couple classes for it, thinking for some reason one day it might come in handy.

But the wounds on the man's arms. On his legs. On his back. On his face. Their extent shocked him. She had never been a queasy type girl. One who runs from the sight of blood. But for Sam's wounds she could make an exception.

Many of them looked horribly infected and painful. She had not been sure how someone could stand to leave such gaping wounds untreated. Every stitch she made created a soft grunt from her patient, even to the extent of him grabbing her arm once tightly, his eyes open but his mind not there.

The guy was obviously running off smoke and nothing but. He was thinner than the Sam she remembered. His face taunt and tight over his cheekbones. How could he let himself get to this situation, this state of being?

Still, after quite a bit of juggling and worrying about his wounds, she had finished; dabbing the unclean injuries with rubbing alcohol. And now his breathing had once more gone regulated and deep, belying his state of deep sleep.

She picked up a wet rag, intent of scratching the grave and years off his face. The amount of grime was ridiculous. Painful to imagine how he got that much shit on his face and even worse to think how he let himself slide in to this rut.

As she worked, methodically running up and down a more tattered face than she remembered, his features twisted in pain and he let out a call. "No…Don't…Please" came his whispers. Over and over, as if some haunting chorus. He squirmed and her hand left his face for a moment, before she brought her lips to his forehead.

"Shhhh." She murmured. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you. Relax. Sleep." She wiped his scrunched brow, pursing her lips together.

She could feel his heart racing through his very back. Its constant thrumming, breaking time of her own. She ran her hands through his hair, intent on soothing him.

If someone could not escape the real world when they create their own world, is anywhere safe?

She traced his jaw, as if hoping the more she held him in her gaze the more she could determine of his life. But part of her knew it wasn't right to really break into someone's life the way she was going to with Sam. She had him almost literally cornered. Whipping the words from his lips. Why should she persist so on stealing truth from his lips when she herself had not told him the whole of her own life?

How could she?

The answer was simply that she couldn't. It wasn't right. If he wanted to tell her, he would in due time. Right now, she was not here to pull away the curtains. It was better to keep him comfortable and safe.

As she turned to leave the room, preparing to her herself drift off to sleep after a quick bite to eat, the way the evening sun was coming down illuminated in a curtain of beauty and splendor... Midst the rich surroundings she had grown so accustom to in her youth, half of him looked as if he belonged; the other half seemed as though he belonged no more than an orphaned child. The light silhouetted him, transforming the shadows for a moment as if they were crested like wings.

His face had finally gone peaceful and for the moment, was clean. His injuries highlighted by the light, seemed to push forth the most empathetic feelings in her chest. Like he were some wounded bird.

A fallen angel. A shadowed angel. Wounded and alone.

Nothing she had ever seen could full on compare with the sight.

Nor did she believe she would see such a thing again.

Reluctantly, she turned to leave. But every time she blinked afterwards, she could see him. The broken man. The broken-winged bird. The evil angel. Or at least, the thought evil angel.

Is it possible for someone to get themselves so wrong as Sam did? There was always this look of self-loathing, hate brimming his eyes. Hatred toward himself. How could he not see himself for what he truly was?

One day, she silently pledged to herself, she would show him for what he was.

* * *

_Knives. White hot pain echoing through her body. A white light and a strangely familiar man, egging her on. Suddenly, it became as if she were free falling. Plummeting toward some abyss. A sudden snap, ripping her back up. No more falling after that…_

He _was there again. A shadow in the mists, his own shadow almost morphing to form wings. Hand stretches out…_

_Then, nothing. Save blackness and the most exasperated gasp._

She woke in a cold sweat, her hands going to her face. As if shielding it from her own nightmare. The whole thing was just…strange. It was like pieces of herself that she had yet to square away. Three different nightmares, each slowly enacting themselves since last week. God only knew what they meant. It was about as hard to decipher their meaning as Sam…

Sam.

She raced to the front door, needing to know that it was all real. Make sure last night hadn't just been another part of her odd dream. Sure enough, there was the Impala, the hood gleaming light from the sunrise off into her eyes. She went outside, shivering a little as she made her way outside barefoot. The tangy-misted air on her scantly clothed body could not stop her. She touched the hood of the car; its cool metallic surface still seemed surreal somehow…

In an almost trance like state, she followed the length of the car. Not really sure what she was expecting to find, but somehow feeling it was important. Her gaze shifted up and down the interior, noticing two packs of close instead of one. Had Dean and Sam split? Somehow, she doubted that from the look in Sam's eyes.

Was he sick? Hurt? Her mind faltered, not sure she wanted to know the answer. But even still, her hand found the cool handle to the '67.

She looked down hard at what she found. There were a few bags of food, some of it fast food but all of it long past expiration. Her hands dug out the junk to unveil some of Sam's items. Clothing that looked as if it had seen better days, some hygienic items like a brush that looked as if it had not, and probably really truly hadn't, seen action in a while. She confiscated it all, wanting to surprise Sam and wash it for him.

Then her hands found the far pack, digging through things Sarah instantly knew by style were his brother's. Everything seemed stale, stiff. She hadn't been sure why she considered it so much different than Sam's own things. Until she found it.

A single shirt, black, torn completely to ribbons. Crimson blood still seeming vaguely fresh. There were rips and tears on both sides.

She swallowed hard as she noticed faded red marks across the seat. Why had she not seen them before?

Her hand reached to one of them, tentatively touching the cold leather. There was so much of it, speckled in random places as she suddenly noticed.

That was when the awful thought hit her; her mind going to the tattered behavior Sam had been showing. The blood, the dirt, the smell of a fresh grave. Even the reluctance to truly elaborate on the hunt. Everything pointed to one thing…

How could she have ever been so un-empathetic to him? The comments she had made left a nasty taste in her mouth. True enough, she could never have guessed something like this could happen.

From what she had gathered about the hunts the two went on, she had come to think of them as invincible, like some super hero in a comic book. They had always seemed more unreal to her than anything. So what on earth could possibly kill a Winchester?

She shook her head. Maybe this was just a coincidence. Maybe there was something else…anything else. But in her heart, there was this gnawing feeling, biting at her, devouring her hope that Dean could have survived whatever had done this to the older man's clothes.

A hum filled her ears, breaking through the silence so unexpectedly she jumped and bashed her head on the roof of the Impala. She grunted and backed out of the Impala, rubbing the bump on her head. She inspected the area, attempting to discern what was making the sound through throbbing pains in her head.

_Just the water pump. _She realized the all-too-familiar sound was. _Wait…water pump?_

She spun around, eying the coach through the window that Sam's sleeping form had once laid. She was surprised he was up this early; it was unusual enough as it was for her to be up this early. Although she was glad he had found the shower, she also knew she could not have him bumbling around the house alone at this point.

With a sigh, she deemed it was late enough to start making breakfast and set about just that, hoping she could finish before Sam had with his shower.

* * *

Sam took surprisingly long showers.

Sarah reflected as she sat in the living room, waiting for his return. Holding the crystal glass of orange juice to her lips, she heard the shower go off at last.

_Finally. He must have wasted a whole flipping tank of water._

She smiled at the thought and took a long guzzle. Soon, she could literally hear him coming back; his usual surprisingly silent motions vanished with his sobriety.

Then she could see him, lines of water dampening his fresh cloths and brown hair plastered to his scalp. She smiled, unable to stop herself from reflecting that he looked much, much better after a nice soak. So much so that she could not keep herself from an amused clap.

"Better?" Sam asked with a coy smile. It had a comical effect, for the chunk of hair that flipped into his eyes.

"Definitely." She replied, stifling a laugh. "Sit." She gestured to a chair she had next to her.

Sam didn't waste any time. She watched his hazel eyes locked on hers as she poured him his own glass and couldn't help but notice a slight shudder. "Here. You need this."

She watched him take a long draught, holding in a laugh at his sour face as he drank. It was impossible to miss the weak; vague shaking Sam had taken on. Not to mention a little chunk of his skin that stayed pinched in place after glancing the chair's armrest.

She practically forced the rest of the breakfast down his throat, but he needed the energy. Then she finally spoke. "I need to go back to the bar to pick my car up. You okay to drive?"

He paused for a moment and she watched his eyes rolled over, he craned his neck, and flexed his hands. As if testing his sobriety. "I think so…." She carelessly threw him the keys and rose to leave.

"Well, what are you waiting for? I'm not getting younger. Let's go."

The look she got from him is just what she expected. "You're not going to make me tell you."

"What? A girl can't change her suit?" She said attempted to joke, although a part of her really wanted to get to the truth behind this all.

There was the look again. That evil, make-you-give-me-whatever-I-want-from-you gaze that was just irresistible. Like some lost child…

"God, you're no fair when you lay that puppy dog look down…" Defeated, she went back to her seat.

Her gaze shifted to the distance; the shredded shirt and blood stains coming to mind. When she finally looked back at him to speak, her face was colored with compassion. "Listen, Sam. I was wrong last night. It wasn't right to try and force you into telling me like that. To corner you… I mean, I'd love it if you told me, but it's not my job to know every little bad thing that happens in your life. I knew you what? Two and a half years ago? For all of one week?" She gave a soft laugh. "For all I know, you could have turned into some psycho serial rapist."

The cynical way Sam laughed after her made her shift on edge.

"Wait, you're not, are you?" Sarah asked, slightly nervous.

"No…it's just that that's kinda funny to me…"

"Phew…For a second, I saw my life flash before my eyes." She said. Then, of course, on cue, the awkward silence. How do you begin a conversation with someone so clearly hurt? She sighed and turned back to him, but his attentions were not on her at that moment. She followed it and the clock met her eyes. She glanced back to Sam…was he counting the minutes till he could get away or something? But then she noted the terror on his face as the clock chimed its first note.

Two.

His face had gone pale and there was a visible sheen of sweat standing out from his drying hair.

Three.

Four.

She could feel her heart hammering, as if something was wrong. Sam wouldn't answer her. He had frozen, as if he was a deer-in-the-headlights. She looked around the room, hoping to find a reason for his unease.

Five.

Six.

She kept her eyes locked on him, hoping for some explanation. But he just sat there, paralyzed with fear.

Seven.

Eight.

His nails had dug into the seat, gripping it in such a way she was surprised it did not rip or tear. Rhythmic breathing was completely gone. Like he was holding his breath for something.

Nine.

Ten.

His blue tinged face continued to watch the clock, not even blinking.

Eleven.

Finally, his eyes slammed shut, as if awaiting a final tone. But it was not even eleven. The dumb clock was always ten minutes early, no matter how many times she reset it. There would be no tenth ring.

With raky breaths, Sam finally released. But there was still this pained look. As if he was reliving a horrible memory. Over and over and over again. He just sat like that, stuck in time. More of a detailed sculpture than a man. The only part that moved were his hands, mechanically scrubbing as if he was washing his hands with the little water and napkin he'd gotten a hold of. Over and over again. Five minutes past and this time it really was eleven. Then eleven ten, twenty, thirty even.

She couldn't take it anymore. She placed her hand on his, surprised at how cold he was. Her smooth hands ran across his calloused ones, forcing the scrubbing to stop. He looked at her, as if questioning why she had stopped him. "It's okay, Sam. You're okay." She murmured to him, repeating it in hopes of making it true.

Gently but quickly, she took the napkin from him, tossing it on the table. Her fingers, as if with a mind of their own, crossed with his own. She waited, let him calm down as she stroked his hand gently. It took him a while, but eventually she saw the relief come across his face.

"Sarah?" Sam finally spoke.

She looked deep into his eyes. "What Sam?"

He paused a moment, giving her a sad smile. "Thanks."

"For what?"

"Everything."

Sarah shrugged her shoulders. "It's no big deal."

"Actually, it is. It's bigger than you can even imagine." She threw him a questioning look, as is she had never seen the shirt. Hoping yet not hoping he would elaborate. "You know about my job. You know what it's like…the hunt. That hunt so long ago…that was an average one. The kind I see on a regular basis." He turned his face, looking out the window.

"In my job, I see the most horrible things. The ones that would normally be a life changing experience for someone. But I'd seen it so many times; I thought I was numb to it. That wasn't true…it was just that it hadn't happened to me in a while…Something that bad happening to someone I loved… guess I was more then due…"

She wanted to ask him so many questions, but made sure to hold her tongue. Sam did not have to say anything to her right now and he was. So why try and force more out of him?

"You remember what I told you back then? About my girlfriend?" Sam's eyes were distant, not really looking at Sarah and she knew he was seeing her again.

Sarah nodded. "You said you couldn't stand to get close to someone. Cause every time you did, they got hurt. That you said you'd lost so many people in your life and you couldn't bear to loose another…"

Sam nodded. "It amazes me to think back on it now…what I had then compared to what I feel now…" He looked at her, a haunted look on his face, which sent a small shiver down her spine. "You were right though. I'm not the same person I was back then…"

She squeezed his hand lightly, encouraging him to go on. "I'm older. I'm more lost. I've seen things you can't even fathom. And this last year has been the worst year in my whole life. All for one stupid little mistake…" He paused, and she wasn't sure if he was going to go on. "Sarah, a few months after I met you, we were on this hunt and…the thing it nearly ripped Dean apart…and then, as if things weren't bad enough, on the way to the hospital, we were in a car accident."

"Oh my god." Sarah said almost involuntarily. "Is Dean alright?"

Sam winced at the word. "He was hurt bad…and he was going to die…but the thing we'd been hunting before, it can do things. Favors for a price…it can give you anything you want in the whole world. But you can only live after making the deal after a set amount of time and then when you die…you go to…" She waited for him to finish. This had to be done on his time. It was clear he was telling the meat of the matter. But still, the monster that made deals…it struck a faint cord of recognition. Like it was something she had known a long time ago or discovered but forgotten. "Hell…"

Finally it dawned on her, but she was almost worried he would think she was crazy for mentioning it. "Wait…so is it like…a demon?" Sam hesitated a moment before he nodded.

All of the sudden, Sarah could feel her stomach sink and she looked at him in a new light. Was Sam Winchester going to Hell? The question didn't come out as anything more than two words, however. "You didn't…"

Sam let out a slightly surprised, bitter chortle. "What? No, no…but my dad did. He saved Dean. I didn't even really get to say goodbye to him before…but after, Dean was really torn up. It messed with his head…I never really fully grasped it. No pain compares with it. The knowing that someone went to hell to save you…"

"I'm so sorry Sam." She whispered softly. He looked at her again.

"It's been two years. I'm fine…not that I don't love Dad, but I've had time. I miss him like Hell, but it's not what got me where I am today…"

"You lost me."

"Something else happen. Around a year after we lost our dad…me and Dean…we stopped by this little dinner to grab a bite. I went in while he kept the Impala running. I remember starting to pick through what he said he'd wanted…all the sudden, the lights started going crazy and there was this really intense smell. Next thing I knew I was coming to in the middle of Cold Oak, South Dakota …"

Sarah gave him a look. She felt like a nerd learning all this supernatural stuff, but ever since their meeting, she had learned more than her share. "Isn't that like supposed to be…"

"The most haunted town in America? Ya, no joke…" he looked far away again. "Turns out we weren't just hunting the demon; in a way, it was hunting us…well me anyway… there were others there… The demon said only one of us was going to get out alive. Eventually, it was down to two of us. Me and this other kid; a soldier ironically. He was convinced that there was no other way… that he had to kill me…" She didn't like where this was going and almost recalled her hand. But she knew he needed to get this off his chest.

"We fought and I had him beat. I was standing over him, unconscious, with a crowbar on my hand and the knife out of his reach. Shoulda killed him…should have had the guts to smash in his head…but I didn't…I could hear could hear Dean calling my name in the distance. He came down that incline. God was I ever glad to see him. Relieved…Never been so glad to see him in my life…and trust me, I'm happy to see him a fuck a lot." Sam bit his lip. His words sliced into her like wild fire...

"That was when he shouted…rather screamed…my name…I didn't even had enough time figure out why he was yelling…this terrible searing pain hit me square in the back…I could hear something snap but couldn't do anything but fall to my knees as Dean rushed to my side. God was I ever confused. I remember his arm going around me and that pain, that horrible, searing pain, intensified in a sudden wave. His face was the last thing I saw…"

Sam looked toward Sarah, the look giving her this terrible pang in her gut. "Sarah, I died…"

It was a moment before she could collect her words. What he was saying…maybe she misread the signs… "So what are you saying Sam? Are you…are you…dead? Are you a s—h…spirit?" He grabbed her hand and squeezed it tightly.

"Does this feel like a ghost, Sarah? _I'm_ not dead…" his voice wavered. He looked out the window as the cold truth unveiled itself. Sam Winchester may not have went to Hell, but someone else…did…

"He didn't…" Silence was the only reply. It was, as she feared. Possibly worse, for it was obvious Sam blamed himself from it. But just the little Sarah had seen of the brothers made them seem so close to one another. No wonder Sam was taking this so hard.

"His deal…" his throat was tight and dry. His eyes were watering and his voice kept catching on his throat. "Came due a…a…week ago…I…I buried his body, three days ago." The room around them was absolute silence. This was beyond anything Sarah could have ever imagined. Horrible. Painful. How he shouldered something like this alone…almost unthinkable…

Sarah cleared her throat, her voice hesitant but calm. "That must have been hard on you, to talk about something like that…I hadn't realized…I'm so sorry Sam." She paused, unsure of what to say next. Then it hit her. "Before I say anything else, I need to tell you this. Sam, you're an amazing person. I mean, it took me forever to open up to anyone about my mom…and you…you have three times that and then some…" Sam looked away again, hiding from her full attentions. But she did not need to see him to know some things are certain.

"Don't deny it. There are some things you haven't told me. But I don't really care. For you to open up to me as much as you did as soon as you did, Sam…you're unbelievable…but Sam, you need to know though that you can't blame yourself…"

"Why not?" he laughed bitterly. He got up, going to look out the window. "Sarah, it is my fault. Everyone. Mom. Jess. Pastor Jim. Caleb. Dad. All of Mom's old friends. Ash. Madison. Ruby…And Dean." He whispered the last, as if hoping by muting it, it would become less true. "I brought this down on them. I did this…"

"Sam, you're not a bad person…you save people. And you give a lot to do it…you don't even get paid. You're a better person then I am. You just have had some awful things happen to you." She moved to his side, her hand on his shoulder in hopes of providing some comfort.

"You don't know me…not anymore. You have no idea still, do you?" his voice was cold.

"Sam, you couldn't have done anything …"

"Haven't you thought to ask why the demon was so interested in me?" His question stopped her a moment. He was right. She had not thought of that. But it didn't matter. Not only that, but she could not take another earth shattering revelation at this point. She hid it well, but everything Sam had said had her head about to burst.

She shook her head. "Sam, I don't care if heaven and hell are battling on top of your chest. I don't care if you spent half your life in hell. You fight evil. You bleed and sweat and loose all you care about. Without you, just think of all the people who would be dead!"

"What you don't see is that there are just as many people who would be alive if not for me." He said quietly.

"Listen to me, Sam. You need to stop this. What would Dean say?" Sam flinched at the word. "He'd want you to take care of yourself. To not keep doing this to yourself." He pushed away from her, but she jumped right into his line of sight, holding his shoulders. Her brown eyes bore into his. "It wasn't your fault."

"How would you know?" He said, breaking her grip on him.

She put her hands down. "You're right. I don't. But I do know this Sam……What ever you did, whatever's happened, it's done. It's over. It's past. You can't change it. I mean, I wished for months after my mother died that I could have seen it coming." Sam's breathing stopped. "That I could have stopped it…told someone that she was sick before even she knew it. Then maybe…just maybe…I could live with myself…

"But that's when my dad told me something. He said, 'Sarah, you need to know that your mother loved you. Loved you so much, that her last thoughts centered around you. She was worried about how you would get on with out her, how much pain you'd be in when she was gone. She wanted you to be happy. Sitting here, dwelling on her death, you're just proving her fear right. She knew that you loved her and that you tried your hardest for her. But Sarah, by being like this…you're not only hurting yourself but her as well…and me…'"

There was some sort of light in Sam's eyes as she spoke. It started dim and lifeless then all of the sudden pushed forth, conquering the despair and pain she knew he felt. And even though it was most likely only a moment's relief, that in mere hours he might have once more become convinced of fiction once more, she was glad she could have given him even that much. God knew he earned it. No one earned the punishments he had endured for just being a good person.

She looked at him, a smile turning up his lips. She knew what she had said had gotten to him in such a way. But she never expected what he did next.

He kissed her.

It was slow, sweet. At first, she had been so surprised she kept her lips locked tightly with surprise. But after a moment…

She kissed him back.

The sun warmed their backs, what little she could see shapes and shadows in a bloody light. She could feel her heart in her throat, almost as if he was sucking it up, stealing it away in a physical sense. He pulled her close to him; his hand brushed her neck gently, sending a chill down her back. She felt like she had gone so long out in the open. Wearing her heart on her sleeve. And now, he was here, protecting her. Guarding her. Her hand ran through his hair, surprised at how dry it had gotten. She could hear his heart thrumming through her ears, within her very being. His hands seeked her face, his rough callused hands not bugging her the way they could.

There was some permanent, intangible pull to him. Like he was a magnet, seeking her out as if she had been destined to find him all her life. She didn't know how this had all worked out or where it was going. Hell she didn't even know if this was a good thing or a bad thing. Would he just up and leave her again, just as she had truly gotten used to him? Would she end up, god forbid, as another on that sizable list of his.

She pushed these questions aside. What happened happened. She needed to live the moment. Not try and predict the future.

She could not keep herself from trying to get further than this. Part of her had longed for this for so long. She felt like a clumsy seductress when she'd stumbled a little, breaking the kiss for a fraction of a second as the back of her knees collided with the stereo system. But he just smiled softly, following her lead in a chivalrous move.

The system started blaring out a song she had heard all too clearly just a day ago…A day? How short that seemed. Had it really been just a day?

_And I'd give up forever to touch you,_

_Cause I know that you feel me somehow._

She broke the kiss, her eyes smoldering with a lust she had felt embarrassed about just a little while before. Everything seemed so perfect in these moments. Her every motion was deliberate, walking to the other side of the couch, her hand gracing the soft cushions. Not once did her gaze leave his eyes. He waited for her, the same gentleman she had liked so long ago but with the slightest more bit of intensity.

_You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be,_

_And I don't want to go home right now._

She tipped her head slightly, an invitation to come forward. He didn't really need too much more persuasion. She slid one hand down his arm and blew across his face, hints of breakfast still in her breath. He kissed her tenderly, allowing her to deepen it when she pushed for more.

_And all I can taste is this moment,_

_And all I can breathe is your life,_

_And sooner or later it's over,_

_I just don't want to miss you tonight._

His hand slid beneath her shirt. More importantly, she let him. His calloused hands felt far too strong, like it he wanted to he could break her easy. She pushed the thought from her mind as he gently draw her. This close, she worried her heart would leap out of her chest. He was driving her nuts and she bet the same was true for him…

_And I don't want the world to see me,_

_Cause I don't think that they'd understand._

_When everything's made to be broken,_

_I just want you to know who I am._

She didn't feel anything as she lead him away from the highly un-private room. As they entered, she almost sensed the tear in Sam's stitches.

_And you cant fight the tears that ain't coming,_

_Or the moment of the truth in your lies._

_When everything feels like the movies,_

_Yeah you bleed just to know you're alive._

She pulled away slightly as her hand ran across the wound, blood oozing forward. They couldn't be so rough about this. Sam was in bad shape still and...he stopped her thoughts with the wild kiss that followed. There was no refusing him at this point for her mind or body…

_And I don't want the world to see me,_

_'Cause I don't think that they'd understand._

_When everything's made to be broken,_

_I just want you to know who I am._

Upon reaching the bed, she pulled away, smiling by the slightly annoyed look on his face. With a sure feeling in her gut, she undid her buttons down her shit; her brown eyes locked on his hazel ones…

_And I don't want the world to see me,_

_Cause I don't think that they'd understand._

_When everything's made to be broken,_

_I just want you to know who I am._

_And I don't want the world to see me,_

_Cause I don't think that they'd understand._

_When everything's made to be broken,_

_I just want you to know who I am._

_I just want you to know who I am._

_I just want you to know who I am._

_I just want you to know who I am._


End file.
